You can have Manhattan
by ekc293
Summary: "She doesn't try to hide it. She wants him to know, she wants him to see just how much this hurts." Spoilers for Watershed. A "What If?" scenario written for a lovely bunch of people who hinted not so subtly that they wanted it.
1. Chapter 1

Things I told myself I wouldn't do:

1. Write a post-ep fic.  
2. Write before I finished the semester.

You can blame Kaitlin and Jenny and Alex (and Olivia)

Inspired by the song Manhattan, by Sara Bareilles.

* * *

He's down on one knee in front of her and she can't feel the tips of her fingers because she's clutching the chain of the swings so hard that she can feel the chain digging into her skin. She watches as his eyes start to water. She's not sure if it's because he's getting emotional or his knee hurts or if it's because he hasn't blinked since he asked her to marry him and she needs to talk.

"I got the job," she says suddenly. The words burst past her lips and she sees him rock back on his heels slightly as if they physically hit him but his hand, his fingers, the ring he's holding in front of her never waivers. He smiles slightly, a little proud smile that has her heart jumping up towards her throat, almost like it would have been a surprise if she hadn't got the job because he thinks she's _extraordinary_.

She can feel her own eyes water but the words barely trip off of her tongue before they die in the air.

"… and I accepted."

His smile fades slightly but he recovers quickly.

"I'll go with you," he says, his voice strong, his lips quirking up in the corner, "I'll come with you. Whatever you want, Kate."

And she wants it. Oh, she wants that. But his daughter is here, and she heard Martha say that he didn't cut his daughter a check to go to Costa Rica for a month because he's worried about her being far away from her since Paris, and for all he complains about his mother living with him, with them, in the loft whenever she pleases she knows that they have gotten even closer since Paris as well and he would miss it so much.

_Too _much.

"Castle…" she whispers. He looks up at her, and she starts crying at the hopeful look in his eyes. She doesn't try to hide it. She wants him to know, she wants him to see just how much this hurts.

"… I think you should stay."

* * *

He watches her when she packs up all the stuff in their – _his _room and it tears her apart. He stands in the doorway his arms crossed over his chest, but he doesn't look angry. He looks disappointed and heartbroken like his entire world wasn't leaving him and she tries to tell herself that she's not. She tries to convince herself that they're going to make this work and they'll talk and this wasn't the end of their lives as they knew it but she can't. Because she can't ask him to do that for her. She can't ask him to put his life on hold for weekends in DC, late night phone calls that may or may not come depending on what she's doing.

He deserves so much more than her.

When her bag is packed, she picks it up slowly. Her back is to him and she doesn't move her head but her eyes slowly scan the bedroom, the empty space on his dresser where her watch used to sit, the missing cell phone charger on the nightstand, the side of the bed that used to be hers.

She turns around and he's still standing in the doorway, staring at her as if he can't believe that this is actually happening and she thinks it would be easier if he was angrier, if he was pissed and screaming and throwing her stuff on the floor. Part of her wishes that he'd fight her. That he'd throw all of her stuff out of her bag before throwing her on the bed and reminding her why she should stay.

She tries to tell herself that she's doing this for all the right reasons.

But it still feels like running away.

* * *

She thinks it was a bad idea letting him take her to the airport, but her dad is busy and he _insisted_ and she also thinks that she owes him this much.

When they're standing in front of the gate, the gate that leads to a plane and eventually DC and they can't look away from each other. He reaches down into his pocket and grabs something and holds it in his fist as he gently lifts her necklace with her mother's ring on it from around her neck. It takes her a moment before she realizes that he's slipping a ring, _her _ring onto the chain.

She fights him on it, her fingers trembling as she tries to push the ring back towards him but he refuses, tells her softly that it's hers – he would never give it to anyone back and he couldn't take it back because from the moment he bought it it's been _hers. _

He slides the chain back over her head, looks her in the eyes as he whispers her promises – if she needs him, he's here. If she misses him, he's here. If she still loves him, he's here and he'll still be here if it doesn't work out, if it _does_.

He's here.

That's precisely the problem.

He's _here_.

* * *

The Lincoln Memorial is the opposite direction of the apartment the FBI leased to her until she could find her own place but she finds herself there most nights.

She sits directly at the top of the stairs with Lincoln at her back and the Washington Memorial in front of her and watches the sun go down. There are people around, snapping pictures of the sunset behind the tall monument and she thinks she's in more strangers' pictures than she's comfortable with but it's quiet. They talk in hushed whispers, laugh quietly as they hold hands and walk through the nation's capital as the day comes to an end.

It drives her insane.

The chain is still around her neck but she pulls it out from under her blouse, wraps her fingers around the rings that sit heavily on the chain. She stares at the diamonds and the way they catch the sun and its refracting rays on the reflection pool.

She clutches her phone in her hand, unlocks it and scrolls through her contacts, looking at his name before she tucks it in towards her stomach.

It kills her. The sun is setting in Manhattan at the same time. He's still in the same time zone but he feels so far away. She's surrounded by history and monuments and she hates it. It's not _her _history. The monuments here tell the story of the country's great leaders, the wars they've won, the tomb of the unknown soldiers who fought and died for a country that didn't even know their names.

She misses the city. Her job keeps her busy but so did her job in the city. She misses the streets and the street vendors and the New York City skyline. She misses the people and the memories and she misses the

She misses him.

She looks at her phone again, presses the appropriate buttons until she gets to where she wants and she knows it a copout. She's a coward and a masochist and she's so selfish.

She snaps a picture of the setting sun, types out a message with shaking fingers that makes her roll her eyes but she can't stop. It's been weeks since she's talked to him but she's wanted to so many times. She _knows _how selfish it is but tonight she can't help it. There's a couple laughing in front of her, kissing and taking a picture of themselves on their phone and they look so in love and she just misses _him_.

_Wrong city. Wrong view. It all feels wrong without you_.

She doesn't think she's going to send it but her finger taps the send button and the message shoots away from her. She closes her eyes, the regret immediately curling in her stomach as she locks her phone, her fingers wrapped tightly around it as she folds herself over it.

She brought this on herself, but she can't deal with it. She can't deal with the rejection. She did this herself but she _loves _him and part of her is afraid that she'll never stop but she did this to herself and she doesn't deserve him.

Her phone dings and she's afraid to look at it but she closes her eyes and swipes her finger across the screen to get to the message. She can't even be sure it's from him but she knows it is, so she takes a deep breath before she opens her eyes.

It is from _him_, but it's not what she expects. There's a picture and the colors look like hers – the sky is red and purple, but she can see the ocean through a set of French doors. It hits her immediately that he's in the Hamptons, not even in the city and she doesn't know for sure but she _knows _it's because of her and it rips her up inside. She gave him their city and he's not even _there _and it's so terribly wrong.

She wants to run. She wants to pack up her things and fly back to him, show up on his doorstep and beg for forgiveness, be honest with herself and put her ring on her finger where it belongs but she just stares at his words instead. Four little words that tear her apart because she broke his heart and she's not entirely sure she can fix it this time.

_I know the feeling._

She doesn't even know how to start.

* * *

_You can have Manhattan  
__'cause I can't have you_.


	2. Chapter 2

I should have prefaced this by saying that this isn't personally what I think is going to happen. We know she's not going to leave New York.  
This is more of a "what if" prompt.

* * *

If the sun wasn't falling over the horizon, the heat would be stifling. It was still warm enough that he tugged at the collar of his shirt, his typical blazer on but unbuttoned as he moved along the edge of the path towards the Lincoln Memorial. The sun just fell over the top of the white memorial, but the sky is still a startling mixture of yellows and blues and purples and it makes him walk even faster. He'd only gotten off his plane in Dulles 45 minutes ago, and the traffic from the airport slowed him down slightly but his taxi driver got him here as fast as he could.

This was his only chance. He didn't know where she lived.

It hits him like a fist to the jaw but he breathes past it. It doesn't matter if he knows because if she's not here he's going to walk over to Pennsylvania Avenue to the FBI Headquarters and demand they tell him where she is because he loves her and he's not leaving without her. He hopes it doesn't come to that because then she'll probably have to bail him out of prison and that's a grand gesture mood killer, so he really hopes he's right.

He knows that he shouldn't have to make the first move, but maybe that's what she's waiting on. She _left_ him but maybe she doesn't know what to do now to make it up to him. Maybe she thinks he won't take her back and that's laughable because he meant what he said. He thinks that maybe she thinks he's angry and he probably should be – he's sure he _will _be by the time they actually sit down and talk about this but it's clear that she's as miserable as he is from that message she sent him, and if she's not miserable than she at least misses him and that was enough for him to buy a plane ticket and fly to DC.

He's been doing a lot of thinking since she left. Thinking he couldn't do in New York anymore because his sheets still smelled like her and she accidentally left a bottle of her lotion under his sink and it smelled like cherries. So he went to the Hamptons and it wasn't much better because he remembers how comfortable she looked here and how happy he was to share this with her but it was a little bit easier to think there.

He loves her. He loves her and it kills him that she thought she had to do this alone but he also knows her. He knows that somehow in her mind - her beautiful, twisted, mind this made sense. Taking this job, coming to DC without him was what she thought was right.

It was a mistake. It was a mistake for her to go and it was a mistake for him to let it happen but he thinks they can get it right soon. They've both made so many mistakes before this, hurt each other too much and he's over it because it's not worth it.

But she is.

She's worth it.

He's done a lot of thinking and he realizes that he's been an idiot, too. That he's been giving relationship advice to his daughter for years now and he wasn't following any of it and he should be. He wants this, wants _her_ enough to get over being hurt. The most worthwhile things in life _are _the most difficult so he can suck up his pride and do this. Because he wants her. Forever. He wouldn't have proposed if he didn't and he doesn't think he's wrong in thinking that she wants it, too.

She wouldn't have sent him that picture if she didn't.

She just needs to know that he still does.

He came to the memorial on a hunch because he thinks he still knows her, and he's right because she's sitting on top of the stairs facing the reflection pond. The lights on the memorial are turning on and Lincoln's illuminated behind her but she's looks so much smaller than he remembered. She's curled up into herself but she's holding something in front of her, staring at it intently. He walks up the stairs to the first raised platform keeping close to the railing but she doesn't look away from whatever she's holding and he's grateful for it.

He turns away from her for a moment and takes out his phone to snap a picture of the Washington Monument, the sun setting behind the Memorial just a shaky reflection on the water before he types out a quick message to her, attaching the photo and putting his phone and his hands back in his pockets while he waits.

He watches as her phone goes off, sees as she pulls it out from where it looked like she had it tucked into her shirt. He braces himself because he can almost see her squinting from where he's standing but then in exactly 2 seconds her spine snaps straight up and her head snaps to where he's standing so quickly that he almost winces.

_It already looks a little bit better._

He'd thought about what he wanted to say the entire taxi ride from the airport, and he stands stock still as they stare at each other. He's hoping that she's trying to convince herself that he's here, that it's been week but they're finally in the same city again, and it's not home but it feels like it because she's _here. _She stands up slowly. She's wearing her heels and he smiles because he loves that she does that even in an entirely new situation, and then it registers that she's moving down the stairs towards him, quickly. He doesn't move to meet her but when she reaches the platform he's on he takes his hands out of his pockets and opens his arms just in time to wrap them around her as she crashes into him, her arms wrapped around his neck. She buries her face into his neck and he feels her breathe words out against his skin. And it takes him a moment because he's lost in how right it feels to have her in his arms again, even if she if trembling so terribly, but she's whispering how much she missed him, how sorry she is, murmuring his name into his skin and it's seeping right through him and into his bloodstream because he's here. And he knows he shouldn't do it. He knows that he should hold her like this and then they should sit down and talk about what's happening but he can't help it.

He pulls away from her slightly, with a little bit of effort because she doesn't seem to want to let him go and it convinces him that all of this was worth it. He catches her chin with his hand before he runs his finger over her cheek, and the way she's looking at him is breaking his heart. She looks happy and shocked but she also looks terrified, her lips parted and her brow furrowed.

"You came," she whispers. Her lip quivers and he feels his own eyes water because she looks so scared that he's going to disappear. She swallows again, her voice coming out a little bit stronger this time, but still just as mystified.

"You're here."

He swallows once, can't even bring himself to nod before he closes the distance, presses a gentle kiss to her lips. _This _feels like home and he knows that this is right. Coming here was the right thing to do.

He pulls back before he can get too lost in her. They need to talk and as much as he wants her he needs them to do this right this time. He doesn't go far, simply opens his eyes and lets his forehead rest against hers as he releases the truth that has been weighing on his heart since the day at the swings.

"I missed you."

* * *

_In case you don't find what you're looking for_  
_In case you're missing what you had before_  
_In case you change your mind, _  
_I'll be waiting here in case_  
_you just want to come home._


	3. Chapter 3

The sun has gone down but they're sitting next to each other on the steps about halfway up the steps. Abraham Lincoln seems so far away, looking over them, a few tourists with cameras still mulling around them but they aren't looking at them. They're sitting next to each other, almost touching but they aren't touching, their own hands resting on their own knees when they're not absentmindedly swatting at mosquitos.

They both think that maybe they should have gone back to her apartment but he's not sure he would have been able to control himself with no one around to see because he _missed _her and he just wants her close. And he wants to scream at her and make her realize that she was so _dumb _to leave him because all he ever wanted was to just be with her. And she doesn't want him to see how odd all her stuff looks in the new place, how embarrassingly ridiculous it looks because it's not a home. She doesn't want him to see that most of his novels are sitting in and on her nightstand because she missed him, and how unfair it was that she got to have his words, the part of him she first fell in love with, and all he had was her ghost.

They're sitting and they're not touching and they're both lost in their thoughts, completely aware of the other and just waiting.

She realizes in a moment that it's her turn. He came to her after _she _left; he bought the plane ticket, he found her in DC; He made the grand romantic gesture. Now it's her turn.

"I come here on the nights when it too much."

He doesn't respond but he sits up straighter, lets her know that he's heard her and she's listening, silently encouraging her to go on.

"It's great," she says softly, "The people are great and the job… is fantastic. I feel like I'm learning so much. And the people here are so nice and welcoming. The city is amazing."

He turns to her, smiles slightly but she can see the pain in his eyes, the way he's trying to hold it together. She exhales unsteadily the words barely making it past her lips.

"I can't stand it."

His eyes show his surprise, and Kate has to look away. She looks at her hands, clenches them together, drops her head in shame as he asks her why. She ignores the question - it's not time yet. She has to explain it better.

(She needs to do _better_)

"I come here _most_ nights," she repeats, "on the nights when it gets too hard."

She reaches down to where the chain hangs around her neck, feeling his eyes on her the entire time as she wraps her finger around _her ring_, the one that he gave her and held it up. She feels him stiffen slightly beside her and her brow crumples. She _hates _it but she owes it to him. She hasn't cried a single time since she's been here and now she's on the verge and she doesn't think she'll be able to stop.

"I come here when I miss you too much."

"Kate -"

"I do," she whispers; the words barely making it out past her lips before they break apart and then she can't stop them. She doesn't do this, she never does this but the truth is just flooding out of her and she can't keep it in, "Miss you. I miss you so much. I hate this job because I you're not there; I hate my apartment because it's not yours; I hate this city because you're not here and I just _miss _you all the time. I feel like I can't even _breathe _without missing you and it's all my fault. It's all my fault and I_ love_ you but I don't know how to fix it," she finally looks at him and his eyes are tearing up and the tears leak out past the corner of hers and she's so tired of holding them in. Her brow crumples, "I'm sorry, Castle. I'm so sorry."

He tries really hard not to touch her but that lasts all of two seconds before he reaches out to her. He slides closer to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulder and tugging her to him. She comes easily, exhaustedly, her body folding in against his almost in relief and it breaks him. Because she's tired, so tired, and there's no one here in DC to keep her going – there's no one to make sure she sleeps, there's no one to make sure she eats.

That was his job. That was his job and he misses it.

He misses her job, too. He misses going to the twelfth with her, bringing her coffee, putting together a murder board. He misses building theory with her, whispering innuendo in her ear when she was supposed to be working, still pretending to keep the fact that he loves her a secret even though everyone who is important knows. He misses bets with the boys, misses Ryan's enthusiasm and Esposito's dry gallows humor and Lanie's sass and even Gates' glares and Perlmutter's complete dismissals of his contributions to the team.

But mostly, he just misses _her_.

He's angry, so very _angry_. He wants to turn to her, take her head in his hands and just shake her, ask her what _was she thinking_, but she's clinging on to his jacket like she thinks her apology wasn't worth enough, like she thinks he's about to say goodbye.

No.

Not yet.

No goodbyes yet.

He leans down, presses his cheek against her hair while she starts to calm down against him. His fingers wrap around the hand still clutching the ring between them and he feels her take a deep breath, her fingers refusing to fall away from it as if she was afraid he would take it from her.

It's his turn.

"I'm mad," he starts quietly. She flinches against him and his arm tightens around her because he still doesn't like to hurt her but she needs to know the truth, "I'm mad and… _hurt_ that you left, that you chose this job over me. That you didn't _want _me to come with you. I would have come with you, Kate. I would have come with you in a heartbeat."

She's shaking in his arms and he can feel the way she stiffens the longer he speaks. He takes a deep breath, lifts their hands holding her ring together a little higher.

"But I don't think this…" he shakes the ring slightly, "… was a mistake."

She lifts her head from off his shoulder, looks at him with something akin to confusion and he doesn't ever want her to be confused again. He thought he'd been clear enough the first time but if she needed another push he could give that to her.

For them.

"I don't regret asking you to marry me," he says again, "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't mean it. I'm done messing around, Kate… I was done from the minute you showed up on my doorstep telling me you wanted me."

He laughs lightly, and she smiles, an adorable little half-embarrassed smile that made her look ages younger than she is.

"I came back to you then," he whispers, "even when I was hurt because I loved you. And I'm angry. And it's going to be hard. But I still love you, Kate. And I still want you. Because I wouldn't have given you _this," _– the ring - "if I didn't mean it. Because I love you, and I want you, and despite what happens now, I always will."

He unwraps his arm from around her shoulders, uses it to nudge her chin up so she's looking at him because he needs her to see his face when he said it.

"'Til death do us part, right?"

He saw her eyes water again as she nodded slightly, repeating the words back to him quietly. Her fingers move from around the ring until they are wrapped around his own, holding the ring up, letting it glitter off the final remaining glances of the sunset off of the reflecting pool, her eyes burning into his with an intensity far more significant than the setting sun could ever hope to reach.

"'Til death do us part."

* * *

_'Cause I don't wanna lose you now_  
_I'm lookin' right at the other half of me_  
_The vacancy that sat in my heart_  
_Is a space that now you hold._  
_Show me how to fight for now_  
_And I'll tell you, baby, it was easy_  
_Comin' back here to you once I figured it out  
You were right here all along._

* * *

OKAY. NOW IT'S REALLY COMPLETE. I can't commit to any long running story because I'm leaving to go on a month long backpacking trip in Europe in 37 days (if you'd like _and have the means _to help me be a little more secure financially, head over to [[ battle whispers dot tumblr .com]] and click the donate button but it's not necessary).

(also, listen to the cover of Mirrors by Boyce Avenue and Fifth Harmony. Ugh, it's beautiful)


End file.
